


The Old-Fashioned Way

by totallyrandom



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College Student Stiles, Getting Together, M/M, Natty Light is awful beer, Peter Hale is a Little Shit, Peter is a Little Shit, Scent Marking, you should read the notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 19:46:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4973734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totallyrandom/pseuds/totallyrandom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles takes a deep breath. And another. Then a couple swigs from the flask. He throws it down on the couch suddenly and jumps away, scrubbing his hands over his face. And starts pacing. And sits down. And gets back up. And sits down, finally, hanging his head. He says, very quietly, “Ineedyoutoscentmarkme.”</p><p>“What.”</p><p>“Seriously, dude.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Old-Fashioned Way

**Author's Note:**

> If you have things that might gross you out, check the end notes.

“Stiles.” 

“Heeeeeeey, Derek,” Stiles says, drinking heavily from a flask. “Anyone else here?” Derek shakes his head. “Good. Good.” 

Derek raises an eyebrow at Stiles as he looks him over, sniffs, can't seem to find anything wrong other than some vague scent of panic that seems to be fading the more he drinks. 

“You’re drunk? … You drove?” 

“Not yet and yes. Cap stayed on until I parked.” Derek stares at him. “Right. So I thought maybe … I really need … ” He clears his throat and starts stepping into Derek’s space. “I need you to … ”

“Stiles,” he growls.

“Derek,” he answers, placing his hand over Derek’s heart and laying his head on top of that hand, speaking into Derek’s chest. “Just … give me a minute … it’s not _easy_ … to ask … you … this.” 

Derek just stares down at the top of his head, waiting as patiently as he can but uncomfortable with the unexpected and unusual closeness. And Stiles’s agitation isn’t helping relax him any either. 

Stiles takes a deep breath. And another. Then a couple swigs from the flask. He throws it down on the couch suddenly and jumps away, scrubbing his hands over his face. And starts pacing. And sits down. And gets back up. And sits down, finally, hanging his head. He says, very quietly, “Ineedyoutoscentmarkme.”

“What.” 

“Seriously, dude.” He looks up at Derek from below his ridiculously long lashes. “I wouldn’t ask, you know … but I need … I think it has to be you. And I thought I could just come over here and try … but no. That wasn’t fair of me … It’s selfish … You’re right. I should go.” 

“I didn’t say that. You need _what_?” 

“Scent. marking.” 

“ _Why?_ ” 

“Ok, no. Look. Ok. So, there’s this creepy werewolf who’s been creeping on me? And to keep the creeping creeper away from me, I think I need another werewolf to like mark me. And I think maybe not just any werewolf? Like, I think I need … an alpha to scent me? Because you rank higher, right? So they should, like, recognize your claim and fuck right off. Right?” 

“ _What_.” 

“Is that not … ? Does it not work … ? That’s a _thing_ , right? It’s not made up. It’s … it’s a _thing_!” 

“Stiles, _who?_ ” 

“Oh. Riiiiiight.” He chews on his thumbnail. “I think maybe it’s better for all involved probably really if I just … don’t tell you that.” 

“Why.” 

Stiles just looks shifty. 

“ _Stiles_. Other wolves are here? You _knew_?”

“Derek, Derek, Derek," he says breezily. "Are there _ever_ new wolves in town without you knowing about it? Like, don’t your Spidey senses tingle or whatever when new weres show up? How many different kinds of weres are there, do you think?” he asks as he mimes shooting webs from his wrists. “Ohmigod, can you imagine a werespider? Iiiiiiiiiick. God, that’s a _horrifying_ thought. Ohmigod, so gross. Quick, give me something else to think about! C’mon. What the fuck is wrong with my brain?! Derek!” 

“Stiles. Stop. Tell me. _Everything_.” 

“Yeah, no way, dude. Just … can you just _do this_ for me? Is there some reason you can’t? Would it, like, kill your game or something to have me walking around with your stank on me? Like, if I smelled like you, would no weres be interested in you anymore? Or do you just not want to give me hugs and loan me some clothes?” 

“No.” 

“Right. Right. Of course. Sorry. Had to at least _try_ , you know? I’ll just … ” 

“Not … It’s not that.” 

Stiles just looks at him, face scrunched in confusion and a bit hurt. 

“It wouldn’t be … You _already_ smell like pack. You don’t need hugs … ” 

“I beg to differ, dude. I _always_ need hugs. And I give great hugs, by the way, if you ever need. Ask anyone. They’re pretty fantastic.” 

Derek huffs out a breath, starts over. “You live on my couch most days. You already steal my shirts. They come back stinking of college lecture halls and Natural Light.” 

“Oh. Sorry? You never said anything.” He looks down at what he’s wearing. “Uh, I think this one’s actually … and maybe the socks, too. ... Shit, so if it were going to work it already would’ve.” 

“Yeah.” 

“So I just … ok,” he sighs. 

“Just tell me. I’ll fix it.” 

“No.” Stiles shakes his head violently. 

“Why not,” Derek growls. 

“Derek, no. That would be _not good._ For _everyone_. Trust me?” Stiles thinks Derek’s eyebrows look frustrated. And worried. And … a bit sad? Why sad? “I’ll, uh, find another way to deal with … it. I’ll get something from Deaton or … I dunno. It’s _fine ... -ish._ It’ll be fine.” 

Derek grabs his shoulders. “Tell. me. now. I’ll take care of you.” 

Stiles hangs his head. He whispers, “But I need to take care of you, too.” 

Derek gasps and drops his hands, stepping back. “What does _that_ mean?” 

“Please, just trust me on this, Derek? It’s better for you and the pack and everybody to go with a nonviolent option here. Is there anything peaceful I can do to make them back off? To like offend their wolfy nose or just make myself super unappealing?” Derek snorts. “Hey!” 

“Just let me kick them out of town.”

Stiles laughs mournfully. “If only.” 

“Why?” 

“Because.” 

“You are the most … STILES.” Stiles shrugs and plops down on the couch, dropping his head to his knees. “If you won’t let me fight for you,” Derek says, surprising Stiles into taking a sharp breath in, “then all I can do is claim you. You don’t want that.” 

“What? No! I mean, YES. That’s exactly what I said already? I want that. Claim me so they’ll fuck off and leave me alone and everything will be fine again. It's not like permanent, right?” 

“No. But it’s not like buying you a corsage and giving you my letterman’s jacket, either.” 

“Oh. my. god. Do you _have_ a letterman jacket, Derek?!”

“ _Focus_. Scent marking,” he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, “is a real thing. But it involves … more. More than wearing my clothes or me rubbing my hands over your pulse points. More than … skin contact. It’s … messy. And _personal_.” 

“ _No_. No waaaaaaay. Is it like the way dogs mark their territory on trees and bushes?” 

“ … _What?_ No!” 

“Oh, thank fuck. Because it _might_ have been worth it, but I’d rather very much not! So … if _that’s_ not it, what?” 

“You would need my … concentrated scent. All over.” Stiles stares at him in confusion. “Saliva and ... ” he just raises an eyebrow.

“Oh. And you’d do that for me?” 

Derek nods, stony faced. “Look.” He pulls up a diagram of the human body on his phone and shows it to Stiles, pointing out the places that would need his scent to make it most effective. 

Stiles gulps. “That’s … a lot. How often does it need to be … applied?” 

“They won’t take the first time as an answer?” 

“I don’t know. They’re not always … predictable. Or reasonable.” Derek frowns. “We could just try it once and if it doesn’t work I can try something else?” 

“Go home. Ask Deaton for options. Come back tomorrow if you want.” 

Stiles nods. “Thanks, Derek.”

*** 

Stiles texts the next day to ask if he can come over. Derek tells him to wait until Erica leaves for work at 6:30. 

“Oh my god. I’m not even going to tell you the recommendation Deaton gave me so don’t even fucking ask.” Derek raises an eyebrow at him in silent judgment. “You _really_ don’t want to know, dude. Promise.” Derek nods. “I got these. For like deposits. You can, uh, tell me when to pick them up or whatever.” Derek eyes the specimen cups with a frown. 

“Fresher … is better. And saliva is difficult to ... Can I … ?” 

“Uh, yeah, dude. Whatever you want. You’re doing me a huge favor, so whatever’s easiest for you.” 

Derek walks up to him and strips him out of his shirt, shoes, and pants, so Stiles is just standing there in boxer briefs and mismatched socks. Derek lets half a smile slip and Stiles just shrugs. Derek steps closer and licks a stripe from his collarbone to behind his ear on both sides. Then his wrists, which shouldn’t feel particularly sexy, but somehow very much is. 

Stiles reaches down to adjust. “Sorry,” he mumbles. Derek ignores it and moves back to his neck to sniff. He leans back and frowns. “What’s wrong?” 

“Not enough.” He grabs one of the cups but just frowns and sets it back down. He walks upstairs, saying, “Give me a minute.”

Stiles tries really hard not to think of what Derek is doing. Tries to focus on the fact that Derek is doing him a really awkward favor that like no one else would. But it's tough not to wonder ...

When Derek comes back downstairs, he walks over nonchalantly with a handful of come, like that's not weird at all. “Less wasteful.” Stiles just swallows hard and nods. “You remember where?” Stiles nods. “You want to, or me?” Stiles shrugs, blushing hard. Derek nods. 

He starts with Stiles’s neck again, sweeping two wet fingers from behind one ear down to the shoulder and across to the other side and up. Stiles does his best not to move. This is awkward enough without getting turned on. Or, at least not more so than usual. Derek nosing at his neck, following the path he’d painted, is not helping that situation, though. Stiles bites his lip and tries to stay quiet and still. 

“Is it, um,” Stiles clears his throat, “Is it better now?” 

Derek hums and raises Stiles’s arm, smears some in his armpit, inside of the elbow, inside of the wrist, then moves to the other arm, behind the knees. “Really should …” He motions down the V of Stiles’s groin. 

“Right. Uh, just wipe what's left on my hands?” He holds out his hands to Derek, who looks down at the very little material left in his own palm. “Oh. Well, maybe that … what’s already there … is enough?” 

Derek tilts his head in thought then places his palm an inch in front of the patch of hair leading down the middle of Stiles’s chest and stomach. “Ok?” Stiles nods. Derek slides his palm from the breastbone down to the waistband of Stiles’s underwear. Stiles can’t stop himself from gasping. “Sorry,” Derek whispers, pulling back. 

Stiles grabs Derek’s hand and smashes it to the side of his throat. “It’s ok. Really.” 

Derek massages Stiles’s shoulder with that hand and leans in and runs his nose down the other side of Stiles’s throat. “You smell so good now. Like me and sex and _want_.” 

“I always smell like want around you. Always have.” 

“You always smell like want. Period.” 

“Not _always_. But always _around you_ , yeah. … What would I figure out if I could scent out your secrets, huh?” 

Derek chuckles and presses in close, tugging Stiles against him with hands on his shoulder and hip. 

“Oh. Weeeeeeeeeeell. Maybe we should just finish this the old-fashioned way, then?” 

Derek agrees, grinding against him and sucking hickeys along his collarbone. 

*** 

In the morning, Peter breezes in as they’re having breakfast. He steals a Pop Tart and slow-claps at them. “Well done, Derek. Very _thorough_. He’s all _yours_.” 

Derek growls and starts to lunge at him, but Stiles holds him back, pulls him into a quick kiss instead. He grabs Derek’s head and looks him hard in the eyes. “Let him go, Derek. He’s not worth it.” 

Derek continues growling until Peter is halfway down the block, then turns back to Stiles. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Seriously, Derek? When that fight happens, it’s _not_ gonna be about _me_.” 

Derek lets out a loud breath. “Thank you.” 

“No, dude. Thank _you_. That was _fun_.” Derek leans in to sniff behind his ear, humming happily. “I need to get to class. Let me know if you want to do this again sometime.” 

Derek just nods and blushes, watching him walk out.

**Author's Note:**

> If using saliva and come for scent marking grosses you out, this is not the fic for you.


End file.
